


And In Thy Name, He Wept

by Megalohdon



Series: Promise Me the Moon, Darling [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Break Up, Drabble, Inspired by Jet Pack Blues - Fall Out Boy, M/M, Or what was supposed to be it, Short One Shot, Takes place right after Yuuri gets home from their wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megalohdon/pseuds/Megalohdon
Summary: Against his better judgement, still present though dulled in his state of inebriation, he fumbles for his phone beneath his pillow and unlocks if with more trouble than it was worth. This, though, he had to do. If closure was what he needed, he’d get it, even if it was past ten PM in Chicago, the city alive beyond the walls of a home he didn’t belong in and crawling with temptations Yuuri never fell for.But Viktor? Oh, he’d fall for Viktor every minute of every day. He’d love Viktor until his breath ran still, heart stalling in his chest and blood ran cold. He would always love him, despite the pain. The hurt just made it easier not to cling to hope.“Please, please come home. Please, Viktor, baby. I love you, come back to me.”





	And In Thy Name, He Wept

            Drinking had a way of numbing the senses.

            It was a good way for him to put up his walls, hide behind a charade of intoxication and troubled thoughts, pretend that it was the booze that made him honest and not the ache that gripped his chest. He thinks that breathing hurts the most, but after seven glasses of chardonnay he stops feeling anything regardless. _It’s a good thing,_ he muses, lips around the rim of his glass and the bottle of 92 Lynmar 2010 La Sereinité in his left hand nearly empty.

            The taste is bitter, and for a seventy dollar bottle of fond memories and whispered promises he wishes he got more out of it. Viktor had picked it out, said if they were going to have _anything_ that it would only be the best. To Yuuri, at least, Viktor was always the best; a shining light in the cavernous prison of his self-doubt, the only thing the universe revolved around, pulling Yuuri right along with him. He was magnetic; a dangerous attraction with a sharp smile and deft fingers, that glint in his eyes that made you _wonder_ just who he was _._ Viktor was everything and nothing, all at once.

            He was the epitome of tranquility on a thrashing sea, and alone in their apartment, Yuuri realizes that the battered hull of their relationship just couldn’t hold up anymore. The captain had jumped ship, and Yuuri wasn’t remotely qualified enough to turn back to get him.

            With another swig of his drink he thinks that Viktor Nikiforov didn’t want to be saved to begin with.

            He stumbles upright, hand braced against the worn out frame of his bedroom door, and it’s a miracle he’s able to bring himself to his bed at all in this state. Not quite sober, but not drunk enough to forget. He wants to, desperately; it’s not every day your fiancé refuses to show up to your own wedding. It’s sad, in reality, but it makes the burn that much sweeter with every drink he downs in the dark.

            Yuuri’s learned that, over the years, if he wants to get anything done the right way, a bottle of booze and some self-encouragement never hurts the process. He babbles to no one quietly against the plush cotton of their comforter, Viktor’s cologne still permeating every fiber and he _swears_ he can feel every nerve in his body catch flame, but he doesn’t dare move. Not yet.

            He will.

            A pair of black leather oxfords knock against his battered wood floors, a reverberation sounding out in the silence in protest against his cruelty. “They deserve better,” a pause, long enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and push himself upright, “They didn’t make him leave.” And he was _right,_ painfully so, because no one but _Viktor_ was to blame for this. No one but _Viktor_ cared enough to write a love note on the back of a napkin as an apology for leaving him.

            Viktor was the only person on this planet who ever pretended to care about Yuuri. He was the only one to break past those unstable insecurities, place his affection inside the younger man as support beams, and Yuuri never thought he was deserving of this treatment. He wasn’t special, wasn’t a man worth caring for, but Viktor did in the only way he knew how. It was with soft kisses before sunrise, a trail of affection laced against his skin during their morning showers, and it was the soft press of his fingertips against his shoulders whenever Yuuri just needed to be held. The Russian man was always too good for him.

            _He finally figured it out._

Against his better judgement, still present though dulled in his state of inebriation, he fumbles for his phone beneath his pillow and unlocks if with more trouble than it was worth. This, though, he had to do. If closure was what he needed, he’d get it, even if it was past ten PM in Chicago, the city alive beyond the walls of a home he didn’t belong in and crawling with temptations Yuuri never fell for.

            But Viktor? Oh, he’d fall for Viktor every minute of every day. He’d love Viktor until his breath ran still, heart stalling in his chest and blood ran cold. He would always love him, despite the pain. The hurt just made it easier not to cling to hope.

            He thumbed the phone enough to unlock it, stumbling through four various menus on his home screen before he can find _Koibito_ scrawled in blurry kanji in his contacts. His chest thrummed and veins burned in recognition of just what kind of weight that word held. A more desperate part of him knew what he was doing, but it was too stubborn to tell him no before he pressed the call button and threw himself back on the bed.

            It immediately goes to voicemail, and Yuuri worries Viktor had already blocked him, but he remembers how long it takes to get to Russia, and he _knows_ that Viktor is still in the process of running, so he cuts his losses and listens to a voice he craved in that moment more than anything.

            _“Allo, you’ve reached Viktor Nikiforov. I’m unavailable at the moment, but if you leave a message with your name and number I will get back with you. Do svidaniya.”_

Yuuri doesn’t remember crying, but he’s sure when a warmth settled over him in the form of Viktor’s voice he had let himself go. He got a better goodbye from Viktor’s voicemail than he ever would in person. An ironic sense of closure.

            He breathes, pauses, closes his eyes.

            “Please, _please_ come home. Please, Viktor, baby. I love you, come back to me.”

            It’s desperate and pleading, and Yuuri knows his tearfulness is ever present in his tone, but he doesn’t _care_ , he just wants Viktor back. He doesn’t want to feel this empty anymore. He doesn’t want to accept a life without the only person who kept him going. He didn’t think he was strong enough for that.

* * *

 

            Saint Petersburg is a victim of unfortunate weather and bad timing, and Viktor finds himself in a flurry of both as he steps out of the airport with his luggage in tow. Twelve hours was all it took to sever everything he had back in Chicago, break the heart of the only person he ever loved and ever would, and he finds his knees weak at the thought of living a new life alone back home in the country he never could feel like himself in. It wasn’t the same without his Yuuri.

            But it was for the best. _This_ was for the best. Yuuri would be fine. He’d get better, move on, be happier with someone better and more deserving of him, a king fit for the castle of Yuuri’s love, and Viktor would always be the peasant at the outer walls peering in with a jealous flare in his eyes. He would always be second best, but that was fine.

            It was for Yuuri.

            He drags his phone from his coat, turning it off after the long flight back, and he’s flooded with a _lot_ of notifications from way too many people, most of them enraged and confused with his behavior and he can’t say he doesn’t blame them. It was out of character, even for him, to be so spontaneous and fly back home without notice.

            Even worse to leave his fiancé waiting in a church _he_ had suggested in the first place to tie the knot he couldn’t bring himself to commit to. It wasn’t right, holding Yuuri back. He _knew_ that, and it took everything he had not to go through with the wedding anyway, but he reminded himself with a chant under his breath;

_“This is for Yuuri, all for Yuuri.”_

Color him surprised when the most two recent notifications are from the man he left behind over twelve hours ago. His phone finds itself unlocked at the whim of his quivering hands, screen a victim to the assault of his steeled gaze as he clicks on the phone icon.

            “He called.”

            It’s to no one and everyone all at once, an observation of odd behaviors in a man he had known for nearly five years, and he finds himself intrigued before he sees the voicemail icon. He knows he has others to listen to, he _knows_ what they say.

            But he also know that Yuuri left one too, and he knows how desperate it’s going to be, just how pained his Yuuri will sound with bitten back tears and venom on his tongue. He’ll be angry, feel betrayed, but Viktor deserved that. He did. So he presses play on the message, phone to his ear, and he watches the rain from under the awning of the Pulkovo airport.

            Viktor uses the rain to his advantage to hide the fact that he’s crying.

            “I’m so sorry, moya lyubov’. So, so sorry.”

            _‘Come back to me’_ haunts him in a whisper at night for nearly thirteen months after.

**Author's Note:**

> Zach sent me a few songs this morning that made him think of the first part of this series, and thinking back to my music collection I listened to one of my all time favorite songs by Fall Out Boy and it really hit home for this AU. I'll link the song below! This whole scene takes place after Viktor leaves and Yuuri comes back home, and he's so desperately drunk and needy and this is the ONLY thing he can think of.
> 
> This is the only time Yuuri calls Viktor in those 13 moths. Viktor never returns the call. I also hope this gives you a LITTLE more insight into Viktor's perspective on the whole situation, too, since I know people were super pissed at him.
> 
> I KNOW this doesn't make it okay! Never said it did. But they can (and WILL) bounce back from this stronger. I promise. 
> 
> If there is enough demand when I finish the main part of the series, I may write Viktor's POV separately. That's up to you guys!
> 
> Listen to **Jet Pack Blues** [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtgiP95ikIE).
> 
>  
> 
> _She’s in a long black coat tonight_  
>  Waiting for me in the downpour outside  
> She’s singing “Baby come home” in a melody of tears  
> While the rhythm of the rain keeps time
> 
>  
> 
> _Did you ever love her? Do you know?_  
>  Or did you never want to be alone?  
> And she was singing “Baby, come home”  
> I remember "Baby, come home"
> 
>  
> 
> This song is just so, so good. Really beautiful, probably my favorite off of the ABAP album.
> 
> As always, this fic is unbeta'd! This was super quick, too. I did a read over a few times for errors, but I wanted to get this out of my system, so any and all errors are on me!
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/megalohdon) and [Tumblr](http://megalohdon.tumblr.com).


End file.
